The Chosen One and the Brightest Witch of Her Age
by catswort
Summary: Sometimes you have to let go and forget about your pain to realize what's staring you in the face.


**Taking place after Hermione leaves the classroom in The Half-Blood Prince, Chapter 14: Felix Felicis.**

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All she could think was that she wanted someplace secluded and quiet. It never dawned on the poor girl that she'd ever have her heart broken. Not sensible Hermione. Bright and book-smart Hermione. It was easier to read something tangible that was in her hands, than to try and understand a complex thing like an emotion. For the moment she hated him, she hated Ron. She hoped that he'd run away with Lavender and she'd never have to see his face again. _Books are easier_, she thought.

It was easier to read about heartbreak in a book than it was to experience it.

It was hard to shake off what she felt, how she felt. She wanted to know, other than the obvious, why she felt the way she did? She was jealous of Lavender. Why didn't Ron realize?

Then again, perhaps, she was kidding herself. She was _Hermione_ after all. Sometimes the things Ron would say could pierce her, like what no one else said, but that's because she cared for him… She knew they were good friends, but were they close enough to be… closer? It's what Hermione had thought she wanted, thought it was the rhyme and reason to why she acted the way she did.

Before she had realized it she was on an all too familiar floor. She knew there would be whispers and talk as she had dodged a couple people on the way to her unknown destination. She didn't care. Let them talk; they would anyways, wouldn't they?

Her cheeks were damp and she was still clutching her wand tightly in her hand. Exhaling she stuck her wand in her pocket.

Hermione wandered at this mystery. How did she come to find herself here, of all places? Had it called out to her as much as she had subconsciously called out to it? For the moment she didn't care to think on it.

The door that had appeared on the once blank wall was one that reminded her of home. Hermione felt better just seeing it. It was slightly taller than her, and wooden (perhaps mahogany?), with beautifully intricate designs on the hinges. As she placed her hand on the knob she noted it fit perfectly in her palm. When she opened it, whatever lay inside would be just what she needed; exactly what she needed.

The room smelt of warmth. When she stepped inside the floor felt unimaginably soft, and upon further inspection, she found it to be made from a pillow or cushion of some fashion. It cheered her up, somewhat. In fact, the whole room was made of pillows, oddly. There were pillows of every shape, size, and color. She could hear a music box playing somewhere in the room, but she couldn't pinpoint its location. The tune was oddly familiar to her.

Hermione grinned, somewhat devilishly for her, and took a run and jumped into the middle of the room. She found herself sprung into the air, and was almost terrified for one moment until she landed softly onto another part of the floor. She began laughing, all troubles seemed to fade. Hermione honestly couldn't remember the last time she laughed as hard as she was now.

She rolled around and jumped and bounced against wall and floor for an eternity it seemed, her attention was suede for a moment, as she heard the creek of a door. Hermione was mid-jump when she glanced to the door to find herself with company.

Harry Potter couldn't believe the sight before his eyes. He had slowly followed Hermione after her exit, he wasn't exactly sure that he should follow her; afraid he might meet the same fate as Ron. It took him a few moments to realize what he was seeing, as it wasn't an everyday sight.

Following Hermione after something like he'd witnessed earlier wasn't something he'd typically do, but lately he'd secretly found a change of heart, and it seemed to have leapt out of nowhere.

He decided it best he step into the room and close the door before he let out his reaction. The instant the door clicked audibly he began laughing. Harry thought he was going to suffocate from the laughter, and found himself bent over trying to regain himself.

Hermione was close to embarrassment. Was Harry laughing _at_ her? She dared to hope not.

"What is so funny?" she might even be close to cross, trying to keep her tone light.

Regaining his composure, Harry stood upright, and as he was wiping a tear from under his glasses said "I wasn't laughing at you, don't worry… It's just… I don't believe I've ever seen you having that much fun, I mean except for having your nose in a book, possibly."

The color that had momentarily left Hermione's face returned. "I don't think I've ever seen you laugh that hard, were you crying?" she asked.

"I was starting to, so this is what the Room of Requirement gives you when you're upset? A room of pillows?" he chuckled.

"I suppose so," she replied, "I think I'll stay a while longer, it's the most fun… as you said, that I've ever had. Other than books. You should have a go. Bounce around; it's really therapeutic, I swear!"

Harry nodded with a wide grin upon his face and took his glasses off, setting them on a nearby shelf.

He took a running start at Hermione and bounced hard half a foot in front of her, sending her into the air to plop onto a large, heart-shaped pillow. Hermione's lungs hurt from laughing.

They found themselves giddy as children, bouncing on opposite sides, trying to touch the ceiling. It would have been hard for any broken-hearted feelings to reach them here. Hermione could feel her spirits and heart lifting, being mended.

Harry could feel himself growing closer to Hermione, having shared this experience alone, it was, as Hermione said, therapeutic.

Bouncing closer to one another and in the middle of the room Harry grabbed Hermione's hand. He started spinning, and Hermione caught on, spinning with him, squealing like a piglet. She was laughing so hard, hoping this feeling wouldn't end. Sometimes even the brightest witch of her age needed to cut loose with a bit of the simplest childish fun.

One moment they were speeding so fast they both felt ill and the next, whether on purpose or accident only Harry knew, he had tripped and found himself lying flat on his back, with Hermione atop him.

After their laughing subsided they both looked at each other, Hermione blushing, not knowing what to do… if she should get up and get off of him… or stay and possibly mend her heart. Harry was her best friend and she wouldn't want to muck that up with a romance, and she had kept her eyes on him, he was destined to be with Ginny. She knew his feelings, neither he nor Ginny tried to hide it, really.

Harry found that he was second guessing himself. Could he ever feel that way about Hermione? Before this moment his immediate answer would have been and was of course not. Hermione was his best friend. All this time they spent so close together, each was thinking over what they could do with this moment, this moment that would never again occur. What should happen once it was gone?

It was as if they'd come to the conclusion simultaneously. The moment was meant to be.

Meeting each other half way Hermione and Harry shared a delicate kiss. It was Hermione's first and she hoped she wasn't so bad at it, but then kept telling herself to stop thinking on it. _Kissing requires no thinking_, she thought. The heat of her cheeks was enough to make Harry sweat. His heart had leapt up into his throat; as he'd been expecting Hermione to pull away.

The gentle brush of her soft lips was enough to drive him mad. He'd never thought he'd feel that way about Hermione Granger. But why should he think that way? Hermione was a beautiful person in her own right. He could feel something blossoming in his heart… or was that his stomach? He settled on both.

This was exactly what Hermione had needed. Possibly, after all, she'd been wrong about the way Ron felt about her… or about how she had felt about him… it could have been a mixture. What about how Harry felt about Ginny? It was plainly obvious… or was it? How would either Ginny or Ron react if this continued outside of the Room of Requirement?

_Stop thinking_, she ordered herself, _enjoy this_.

Pulling away from the kiss they stared at one another, all words seeming to have fled.

"I think it's best if we—"

"We could possibly just—"

"Keep it secret?" Harry inquired, unsure of how Hermione would interpret that.

"I don't think that's best, Harry. A relationship you've got to keep secret is not a good one at all," Hermione breathed. Though, the idea of a secret relationship delighted something deep within her.

"Well, we can't exactly walk out of here and announce it, can we?" Harry was unsure himself what to do about this, for all he knew, the moment they were outside of the room his feelings would fade… he hoped not.

Hermione seemed to feel the same, "Harry, I feel as though this was all in the moment. I don't know what or how I feel…" The blush was creeping back on her face. They were both hopelessly confused. Glancing to her watch Hermione realized they both should be getting back to the common room, and for once she ignored the time.

She rolled over on her back and lay next to Harry, staring up at the ceiling. Hermione now took notice that the ceiling was one giant mirror. She could see herself. Her cheeks were quite pink, her clothes and hair disheveled, as well as Harry's, though his hair appeared as unkempt as usual.

Harry reached over and held her hand. Hermione's heart leapt. She was sure, she felt, that what she was feeling—her heart leaping and soaring—was all being felt for Harry. There wasn't a substitute face or anything of the sort. When she had kissed Harry, she had imagined Harry in her mind. There was no doubt about that, had Harry felt the same?

"Harry?" she dared.

"Yeah?"

"When… when we kissed… and now, holding my hand… are you thinking of me… or?" she had muttered the words almost frantically and it took Harry a moment to process them.

"Oh, no, no," feeling her emotion beginning to change, "I mean, no I wasn't thinking of anyone else. I saw your face when we… kissed, and now, holding your hand. No, it was you, Hermione."

Hermione had come close to flinging herself across the room at the start of his sentence, but she was able to be content by its end.

"The Chosen One," Hermione whispered sarcastically.

"And the brightest witch of her age," Harry finished, laughing as he kissed her again.


End file.
